GREED Box Set (Books 1-4)

by John W. Mefford

  “Go on, Mr. Hagard.”

  “It appears she took things a little far with one of our key points of interest, and it sparked an unforeseeable response.”

  Victoria wasn’t keen on anyone not following an assignment to perfection, even if it was someone who was now deceased.

  “Mr. Hagard, your little girl had a job to do.”

  “You’re right, and she did it well on many fronts. In situations like these, emotions can get out of hand. We wanted to stoke the fire on the home front with this key person of interest. That was the objective. My man thought she had a good feel for the situation. But these things are delicate, and sometimes it doesn’t take much to push people over the edge.”

  Victoria processed this information as she approached road construction, forcing her to detour off her normal route.

  “How does this incident impact the plan?”

  “Without a doubt, it puts attention on a situation we really didn’t want,” Chuck said. “Which is why I pay my best people at the top of their compensation range.”

  “Enough of the corporate HR jargon.”

  “It’s not BS. I have confidence in my operational chief. He has a number of things already in motion. This only adds a few more tasks to his list. I’ll provide him an incentive to get this mess cleaned up.”

  “With no connection to any of us, including Turug, I’m assuming.”

  “Given what we’ve been told, I would expect an arrest in the next three days.” Chuck added, “But there aren’t any guarantees. Emotions are involved. The situation is still somewhat….uh, fluid.” Victoria swerved and popped the median curb and came within a few inches of smashing into a light pole. She quickly pulled over to the side of the road and gathered her thoughts.

  “Victoria? You there?”

  “This is not a good development. I don’t like all this uncertainty. Too much risk,” she said, her blood finally reaching her brain. “Your ops chief, I’m assuming his unique skills will help steer this investigation in the right direction for all parties. Correct?”

  “Correct, ma’am.”

  “First, I want to make sure there will be no arrests until Monday. We have a company party at our estate, and I wouldn’t want to bring our family name into this sordid mess.” Her voice was stern.

  “Secondly, while I initially thought it was best to stay at arm’s length during this operation, I now want information on the progress being made, at least until we reach a point where I’ve received my fair compensation.” Victoria carefully pulled back onto the road.

  “I assure you we’ve dealt with many communities like this one. We understand which levers to pull and whose hands need a little greasing,” Chuck said.

  “This is far more complex, and you know it, Mr. Hagard. The money at stake here makes this game much different from any you have played.” Victoria reached the main highway heading to her family estate. “For starters, I want to meet your man in charge of this operation. If he’s as outstanding as you say he is, he’ll have no problem convincing me of his ability.”

  “Listen, Victoria, I know you understand the gas business, maybe better than some of my top executives, but what we’re talking about here isn’t the gas business. It’s down-and-dirty business. You want no part of this.”

  “I understand we’re not dealing with the Tooth Fairy here, Mr. Hagard. And given everything I’ve put on the line, I hope you understand the risk I’m taking in even speaking with you, let alone the role I’ve played thus far. I respect your team’s, uh, expertise in special situations like these. However, I’ve given you enough latitude. I’m not confident your men won’t screw up this entire deal.”

  “Why Victoria, is that a sexist comment?” Chuck asked with a small laugh.

  “Take it as you may.”

  “Okay, okay. I’ll figure out a way for you to meet with my operational chief, and we’ll get regular updates.”

  ***

  Chuck wondered how he could keep his man in charge under control. A shock collar came to mind. A typical Christmas bonus wouldn’t suffice. The guy required special privileges, and sometimes he took them without asking.

  Victoria must think he was working this deal with a bunch of choir boys. Damn, she’s naïve.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I tapped my left foot, used my steering wheel as a drum, and sang along with the chorus as I drove to the office. Despite dealing with Jeanne and the drama at Greenberg & Associates, I found myself singing a Christmas carol as I parked in my regular space.

  I was back at the location of the most horrifying incident of my life. Half-jokingly, I wondered if my short-term memory was fading because of my concussion, allowing me to temporarily forget all the recent stress.

  I entered the back door and paused. My memory of the room filled with whirling, humming fans was far different now. The sour smell of a rain-soaked carpet had been replaced by a cedar and cinnamon mixture. Decorative clusters of pinecones and garland hung from every doorway. I went directly to the breakroom and wrote a note to my coworkers on the main whiteboard: Thank you for the balloons and cookies. Marisa and I appreciate your support. You’re a great group. Michael.

  As I walked to my office, several coworkers, including Paula, greeted me and told me how good it was to see me back at work. There were several smiles, an extinct expression since PHC announced its acquisition of J&W, from what Paula said.

  “Oh, Michael, come on and give me a hug.” Mrs. Ireland extended her arms so wide I had no way of avoiding her. I realized she needed the hug more than I did, and so I let her hang on for an extra couple of seconds.

  I logged in to our internal network and watched three hundred twenty-three emails hit my inbox. As I sifted through a few of the urgent emails, Jennifer, another manager peer, dropped by.

  “Glad you’re okay, Michael. We thought we were dealing with too much when J&W announced the acquisition, but what you witnessed earlier this week…I’m not sure how you’ve dealt with it,” Jennifer exclaimed.

  “With a couple of bottles of vodka,” I said dryly while reviewing an electronic customer invoice. I lifted my eyes from the screen, and then Jennifer finally got that I was joking.

  “I guess you know it was Tiffany.” Jennifer curled her hair over her ear, a nervous habit I’d seen several times.

  I nodded my head.

  “It’s hard to believe it’s someone we know. I had seen Tiffany only a couple of times, but it’s really scary to think someone could throw a human being into a dumpster like a piece of garbage.” She stared at me, apparently waiting for me to spill my soul.

  I wasn’t taking the bait. I changed the subject to lighten the mood.

  “So, have you bought your dress for the big party tomorrow night?” I rummaged through a mound of paperwork on my desk. “The final J&W Christmas party might be the best.”

  The Taylors went all out for this annual event. They were cheaper than Walmart three hundred sixty-four days of the year, but their holiday celebration helped foster some goodwill toward the richest family in this part of the state. And this year they’d need it more than ever. You couldn’t predict if some numbnut might seek revenge on the family with the most to lose.

  “I am looking forward to it, but I can’t decide what to wear. It’ll probably come down to how bold I’m feeling just before I leave. Did I tell you I actually have a date this year? My cousin is in town, and he’s dying to see the mansion. And the free food and drink doesn’t hurt.”

  “Free is good,” I mumbled without looking up from my screen. Jennifer got the hint I needed some peace and quiet to catch up.

  I finished reading a Statement of Work and signed the document, then looked at my watch and realized my meeting with detective Carl Pearson was fast approaching. Gazing at the blur of my computer screen, I thought about the brutal crime associated with Tiffany’s arm and her body stuffed in a plastic bag. I pondered what type of person would have committed such a heinous act. And Tiffany, such a b
eautiful, smart young woman. I wondered if she fought back to her last breath, crying out for help from God above.

  I shut down my computer and draped my barn coat over my arm, then popped my head in Paula’s door.

  “I’ve got to run to a meeting at the police department. Have you seen Reinaldo today? I’d like to say hello before I take off.”

  “I didn’t want to add to your stress, Michael, but I’m a bit concerned.” Paula removed her glasses and pinched the top of her nose. “Reinaldo has called in sick the last three days. Mrs. Ireland said he sounded very down, maybe even depressed. There’s so much going on around here, it’s easy to understand. He lives in your neighborhood, right?”

  I could see her anxiety. The news disturbed me as well.

  “Honestly, I’m not sure if he’s even living there,” I said. “Marisa and I saw a For Sale sign in his yard, and then it disappeared. I haven’t seen anyone in the Silva family around their home in weeks. No signs of life.”

  Paula and I were optimistic we’d see Reinaldo and Karina at the party and hoped some normalcy would return to our unpredictable professional lives. But these days, who could tell what normal really was.

  The pit of my stomach began to tighten. I left the office praying I’d start the process of gaining closure from the most gruesome images I’d ever seen.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Fluorescent lights shone through stained plastic, creating a slight yellow hue in the white-walled room. I sat in an ice-cold chair that must have weighed fifty pounds, in front of a square metal table that was bolted to the painted concrete floor. Comfort and style weren’t the objectives in decorating the police department interview room.

  A rectangular mirror faced me on the opposite wall. It was probably one of those two-way mirrors to allow someone on the other side to study my every movement. I had nothing to hide, but butterflies fluttered in my stomach like I was preparing to perform in front of a sold-out crowd.

  A microphone dangled from the ceiling. It swayed gently from the air blowing out of the filthy vent. I saw cameras placed in two corners of the square room. The thick, white door opened, and Detective Carl Pearson walked in, followed by another person, also in plain clothes.

  “Hey, Carl, does this mean I need to worry about the DVD being sold on the black market?” I pointed at the camera, hoping my humor might reduce the pressure.

  Carl gave me a mild smirk and introduced his partner.

  “Michael, this is Detective Smith, Roger Smith. He’ll be helping in the investigation.”

  “Any relation to the former GM CEO?” Two stern, blank faces stared back. “You know, the guy from the 1980s who had the documentary made about him, Roger and Me?” I wasn’t sure if they knew or cared that GM Roger Smith was an older white guy, while Detective Roger Smith standing before me was African American. It was all nervous chatter.

  “Michael, we’d like for you to begin by recalling any interaction you had with Tiffany, and then what happened on the day you discovered the… uh, her.” Carl rubbed his nose.

  I couldn’t provide any specific evidence that would help find the killer, but I did tell them Tiffany was sharper than your average administrative assistant and quite attractive.

  “I never found Tiffany very warm, which seemed a bit odd for a receptionist,” I said, offering more opinion than fact. “She seemed emotionally distant. As far I knew, she didn’t have many friends. But I sensed the wheels in her mind were always turning. Smart as a whip.”

  My breathing accelerated as I began to think through the sequence of events of the gloomy morning I’d found Tiffany’s arm. A cold patch of sweat formed on the back of my neck. I closed my eyes and felt the huge raindrops pelting my face as I peered up into the thick, dark sky to locate the gutter leak. I moved slowly to the right. Suddenly, it felt like a hand reached up to drag me downward so I wouldn’t miss the plastic bag. It must have been Tiffany’s spirit crying out in desperation.

  Once I knew something was in that bag, the weight of it made me wonder if there was a body inside. Then, the bag had split open, and Tiffany’s arm slid out. I stared at the blank wall in the interview room while a slideshow of pictures projected in my mind. The pale-white color of the arm stood out from the darkness of the bag and the surrounding alley. A red line of what appeared to be dried blood scaled up her forearm and disappeared into the bag. Part of me wanted to look in the bag, but my flight instincts had taken over. I ran away as fast as I could.

  I was still not sure why I’d screamed for help. How could I believe anyone would still be alive? Tiffany’s arm never showed any signs of life.

  Was there life after death? Could a spirit talk to us from the other side of life, as we know it? Was it heaven? Was it hell? Or was there a state in between, where some type of resolution must occur before deciding a person’s ultimate fate? Tiffany’s fate.

  I was a mildly religious person—one foot in, one foot out—like many things in my life. I felt certain there was a God, an almighty being who put us on the earth for a purpose. Beyond that, the path and ultimate destiny beyond death…I wasn’t sure.

  My pulse began to slow to a more normal pace. I looked at my watch. Thirty minutes had passed. I’d lost all concept of time as I recounted the details of the day my life changed forever.

  Roger turned off the recording device.

  “I appreciate you being so thorough,” Carl said calmly, his head down as he finished his notes.

  Roger thanked me for coming in. “We’ll let you know if we have more questions.”

  “I have one question for you guys. Do you have any leads as to who did this?” I hoped he’d confide in me just as I had opened my soul for them.

  “No comment,” Roger responded without hesitation.

  ***

  I shut my car door and rested my head on the chilled, vinyl steering wheel, waiting for a flood of emotions to gush out. I noticed a thick layer of dust accumulating on the dashboard, then realized I wasn’t distraught or haunted by my detailed description of the events from that morning. The recounting had opened my eyes to the fragility of life and allowed me to explore a different perspective on what happens following death. It had been cathartic. I was more at peace, yet I still felt my role in this ordeal wasn’t finished.

  For the first time in my life, I had a higher purpose—to uncover the truth behind Tiffany’s murder. Tiffany, or her spirit, connected with me. I couldn’t ignore her cry for help.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Is Stu in?”

  The Times Herald receptionist lowered her bifocals. “Do you have an appointment, sir?”

  “No, but I think he’d like to see me.”

  She let her glasses dangle from her silver neck chain, then called Stu.

  “He says he’s on a deadline but will squeeze in some time to meet with you in conference room number three, just down the hallway.”

  I walked through double glass doors and a familiar aroma greeted me. The smell of newspapers. That smell gave me confidence that the wheels of journalism were still intact.

  Stu and I faced each other across a scarred wooden table, probably circa 1982, sitting in swivel chairs, both of which had frayed blue fabric. Mine squeaked like an out-of-tune violin as I moved closer to the table to prop myself on my forearms. One of three fluorescent lights was out, making it appear Stu had a cloud over his head.

  “Thanks for dropping by, but I don’t have much time,” Stu said.

  “We haven’t spoken since the day of the incident, and I was wondering if you needed more information from me.” I leaned forward, intentionally narrowing the gap between us. “Are you trying to hit the story from a different angle?”

  Stu avoided eye contact and fidgeted with his pen. “Honestly, I’m not writing about the story you think I am. I’ve been looking into inconsistencies from the zoning commission. Apparently, they held a vote without a quorum of all the board members present, and no one can find the meeting minutes.”

&nbs
p; I wondered if Stu had tripped over his untied shoelaces, suffered a head injury, and lost his memory since the day of the crime.

  “The investigators must have really put a lid on this one. I guess it’ll take a more aggressive reporter to get some answers from our police department.” I prodded his ego.

  “Look here, Michael.” Stu poked his finger on the table. “I’ve continued to work the story, looking for new angles, trying to keep the public informed. But…”

  My eyebrows rose, awaiting the excuse.

  “…Karina asked me to follow up on this zoning story, and she has a couple of other stories she wants me to work as well.”

  My eyes slowly narrowed. Was Stu telling the truth? The biggest event in God knows how long and he’s off playing patty cake with some pencil pushers from a government meeting.

  “I will tell you one nugget I picked up.” Stu must have sensed my frustration. “I have a source in the coroner’s office, and there’s evidently a disagreement on the cause of death. My source won’t tell me all of the conversations he overheard, but they’ve called in an independent coroner to validate the cause.”

  “Any idea what they’re looking into?”

  “They found a pretty nasty contusion on her skull, so they focused initially on blunt force trauma to her head. But there is also evidence of strangulation. Apparently, her body was really messed up. I asked to get a peek, but my source wouldn’t show me.”

  “Why hasn’t this made the paper?”

  “My boss said to wait for the police department to give us more information. I tried to convince her otherwise, but she wouldn’t budge.”

  “Is Karina around? I want to talk with her.”

  “She’s been in and out a lot lately with her mother and all, but I think I saw her office light on earlier. I’ll walk you to her office, but then you’re on your own.” It was obvious Stu was eager to pass me off to the person who apparently controlled his every movement.